The Hole

My dear little cousin,

You don't know me. You never saw my face, never heard the sound of my voice, never felt my hand touch yours. You don't know my name. But I know yours, Caleb.

There's this hole in my chest, Caleb, and it keeps getting bigger. Now you've widened it just a little more. You've made it large enough that your tiny hand could probably fit inside. I wish I could have met you.

I don't have words to describe what love is, but if it's anything, it's giving someone the power to hurt you in places that may never heal. Somehow I gave you that power, despite the fact that I never even met you.

I'm repeatedly struck by the injustice of it all. Thousands of women abort their babies each year but after 29 weeks of pregnancy and 7 months of fighting for your life, my sweet aunt didn't get to keep you. It's so unfair, but as you've probably learned better than most of us, life just isn't fair.

It sounds strange, but I'm happy for you, because you're free, Caleb. You're finally free from the painfully low oxygen levels and endless hospital walls that were your sky. Probably the only sky you ever knew. You just got to go home sooner than the rest of us, I guess. And although your life has ended, our love for you will not end. It does not end, you hear me? It will continue forever. I promise.

No matter where you are now, remember what your mom told you not long ago. That the numbers on the ventilator didn't matter, and that it was all right if you were tired because they would sleep next to you that night. That it was okay to go back to heaven and rest in the arms of our Savior. And that she loves you to heaven and back. I'm sure your angel friends were there to welcome you in.

I still wish I'd gotten to meet you. It's hard to say goodbye before I ever said hello, and sometimes it's hard to keep believing, but Caleb, I know I'll get to meet you someday. I just know it. And I can't wait for that day.

I love you to heaven and back.
Xoxo
Your cousin